


flung out of space

by Sheblet (salem112)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, cat has feelings and she hates it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salem112/pseuds/Sheblet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cat Grant comes to terms with the fact that her assistant spends her free time running about the city in a cape. // Post-1x08</p>
            </blockquote>





	flung out of space

You should have known.

From the moment she stepped out into the public eye wearing that cape, you should have known. Hell, even from the moment those grainy photos of her standing on the wing of a plane surfaced, you should have known. You should have recognized her, from her long blonde hair to her slouchy shoulders you’re always yelling at her for, to her stupid, proud grin. The same one she always wears when you give her a rare compliment, no matter how back-handed.

You should have known that your assistant was Supergirl. What kind of idiot doesn’t recognize the woman who’s been working beside her for years just because she took her glasses off? You are smarter than that.

But, to be fair – you never could have imagined Kara Danvers, your meek, mousy assistant who took three months just to be able to utter a full sentence in your presence, being capable of such great feats as Supergirl.

But you know now. As she stands on your office balcony, glasses clutched tightly in her hands along with the papers she just had you sign, you can see it as clear as day. She is bare, and in her eyes you can see the fear that you are about to expose everything.

Before you can assure her that that wouldn’t happen, that you’re not stupid or entirely heartless, her phone rings. Saved by the cell. This conversation can wait, and anyways, you like the idea of making Supergirl squirm with uncertainty, if only for a little while.

She mumbles something incoherent, and you have half a mind to scold her – she knows mumbling is one of your pet peeves. But instead you just wave her off. “Go,” you say, “I’m sure it’s very important.”

She shuffles quickly back inside, pressing the phone to her ear and leaving you out on your balcony to consider that you’ve been standing in the presence of greatness this whole time without ever even realizing it.

You know the real reason you didn’t recognize her, if you’re being honest with yourself, and you’re three glasses into a bottle of champagne so you are, indeed, being honest with yourself. It’s because you never really took the time to notice Kara. You never really saw her. And that’s your own fault, you know. It’s a purposeful tactic, one you implement to keep yourself from getting close to people, especially those people you work with. Kara has proven to be a worthy adversary, however, with her genuine smiles and her careful hands and her all-around infuriating goodness, and so you’ve had to work harder than usual to distance yourself from her.

That’s all just water under the bridge now, you suppose, and you’re surprised to find yourself smiling.

Supergirl.

What a treat.

\--

The next day, nothing changes. You make sure of that. She still brings you your latte, and even though you can see the steam floating up from the lid you complain that it isn’t hot enough and dump it in the garbage. Under normal circumstances Kara would have done her best not to look frustrated, but a scowl would have turned her lips down a little, anyway. Today, however, she looks relieved, glad that you seem to be maintaining some sense of normalcy.

“Miss Grant,” she says, “I just wanted to apologize for cutting our conversation short last night. I had a, um, family emergency.”

You sit behind your desk and watch Kara do her best not to fumble with her hands – she knows you hate it, but she’s nervous, and old habits die hard, or so they say.

“Oh, Kira,” you say lightly, “we both know that isn’t true.”

Kara opens her mouth, likely to try and politely argue, but you don’t give her the chance.

“Close the door,” you tell her. She hesitates for only a moment before apparently resigning herself to her fate and doing as you say.

“Now, Kira. Do you think I’m stupid?”

She looks stunned. “I… No? No! Of course not.”

“Then do you take me for some kind of fool?”

“I think nothing but the best of you, Miss Grant. You know that.”

You try not to feel too pleased about that comment, reminding yourself to remain focused on the situation at hand. “Then why, might I ask, do you insist on continuing to act like you aren’t exactly who I think you are?”

“Miss Grant, I don’t know why you’re so insistent on this, but I can assure you you’re –“

“Wrong?” You laugh. “I’m never wrong. I wouldn’t have even brought it up if I didn’t have sufficient evidence to back it up. Now, Kira, if you’re afraid I might expose you, let me put your mind at ease. I am not, as we have already discussed, an idiot, and I know how delicate this situation is for you, your livelihood, and your family. It also would put CatCo under a lot of scrutiny, and you and I both know we can’t afford that after the whole hacking debacle. If people knew Supergirl has been working for me this entire time, it could pose a huge conflict of interest.”

Kara has remained silent the entire time, but her face has gone a bit paler than usual, as if she has finally accepted that she can’t smooth talk her way out of this one.

“Now,” you say, “here is what we are going to do. We are going to go on as we always have. We are going to act as if everything is normal. But you are going to provide as many clear photos of Supergirl as CatCo requires, and you are going to let me know whenever you need to leave for an emergency so that I may cover for you. Does that seem reasonable?”

Kara looks momentarily shocked, like perhaps she’d been expecting you to be far less reasonable than this. You feel a little bad about that. Are you really so horrible to her that she only expects the worst? You make a mental note to work on that.

“Kira, have you forgotten how to speak?” you demand impatiently when almost a full minute has passed without her saying a word. That seems to jolt her out of her trance, and she nods vigorously.

“Yes, Miss Grant,” she says breathlessly. “That seems….. that’s more than reasonable. Thank you. Thank you.”

You wave a hand noncommittally.

“Now go get me another latte,” you say. “Chop chop.”

\--

On Wednesday, an apartment building goes up in flames.

It’s the first incident requiring Supergirl’s attention during CatCo hours since you found out the truth. The big screens behind your desk come to life with the breaking news, and an instant later Kara is standing in your doorway, eyes intense and questioning, the layouts you sent her to retrieve clutched so tightly in one hand you fear they may be damaged.

“Go,” you say.

“I ordered your lunch,” she says quickly. “It’ll be here in ten.”

“Kira. It’s fine.”

She nods and turns to leave and – oh, wait. The layouts. She’s still clutching them fiercely.

“Wait!” you call, getting up. She halts and turns, looking flustered. You come around to stand in front of your desk.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” you ask, meaning the layouts. Kara looks confused. Suddenly, she takes several quick steps towards you.

Once she’s there, however, she still doesn’t seem to know what you’re referring to and she hesitates, rocking back and forth on her heels before leaning forward and placing a light kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be back,” she says, and rushes out, layouts still in hand.

You stand there for a few minutes after that, trying to figure out what just happened. Her brain obviously short-circuited, this being an emergency and all.

You’ll forgive her for this one, but you sure as hell aren’t going to let her live it down.

\--

She returns a few hours later. You saw on the news there were a few casualties, their identities remaining undisclosed, but overall Supergirl saved the day yet again.

You’ve spent all those hours wondering just exactly how you will be shaming her for her little lapse in judgment earlier, which cost you both the time it took design to reprint the layouts she absconded with and also the years of your life that you lost after the stunt.

All thoughts of teasing her relentlessly leave your mind, however, when she steps off the elevator. You see her through the windows of your office, and her shoulders are slumped, eyes downcast. Even from here you can tell something is not right, but for right now you don’t have the time to wonder or worry. You file the concern away as something to address at the end of the day.

She at least has the decency to look ashamed when she shuffles into your office a few minutes later, a set of slightly wrinkled but otherwise intact layouts now being held much more gently in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, quietly, eyes glued to the floor. “I um, I… stole these.”

“Indeed you did,” you say brusquely, setting your pen down harder than necessary to indicate your annoyance. Just because she is Supergirl does not mean you will stop pushing her – in fact, now that you know she’s Supergirl you feel the need to push her twice as much. “You know, you caused a lot of trouble for the design department. They had to reprint the layouts, which was a waste of paper, ink and time when we had some perfectly good ones already printed. And then, of course, I had to explain to them why I needed to have them reprinted, had to explain that my incompetent assistant accidentally left with them.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, and this time her voice trembles dangerously and you think it best not to have your assistant leave your office crying, so you sigh, and let it go.

Instead, you take a packet of wet wipes out of one of your desk drawers and hold it out to her. She just stares at it, bewildered.

“You’ve had a smudge of soot on your face this whole time,” you say with a roll of your eyes, pointing to your own cheekbone to indicate its location. “Honestly, do you ever look in a mirror? You need to start paying more attention. One defining feature can place you in Supergirl’s tacky red boots like _that_.” You snap your fingers.

She furrows her brow at your choice of words, accepting the wipes. She scrubs at her face.

“Did I get it?”

You heave a dramatic sigh. “No.”

“How about now?”

“Not even close.”

She gives one last rub, still nowhere near the vicinity of the mark, and you huff, rising from behind your desk and rounding it to stand in front of her.

You snatch the wipe with one hand and gently hold her chin still with the other. You scrub away the offending mark.

“Honestly,” you say as the smudge vanishes, “I can’t believe National City is in your hands. You can barely take care of yourself.”

It’s meant as an insult, but you must be doing a poor job of hiding the fondness in your voice and the sparkle in your eyes, because she smiles, which is, of course, the opposite of the desired effect.

“There,” you say a moment later, releasing her chin.

“Thank you,” she says. “For being so… helpful.”

“You aren’t going to kiss me again, are you?” you ask dryly as you toss the wipe in the trash and head back to your seat. She just laughs.

“No, Miss Grant.”

“Good. Now get out of my office.”

\--

The end of the day comes, everyone else goes home, and Kara’s mood does not improve. You hate that you’re even noticing, but you figure your knowledge has given you responsibility. Supergirl is your responsibility.

So as she straightens up around your office, the way she always does at the end of the day, you watch as she seems to do so with much less energy than usual. She has a sort of strange look on her face, like maybe her mind is somewhere far away. You observe her for five more minutes before sighing loudly to get her attention.

“All right, what is it?” you demand, putting on an air of irritation to mask your inkling of concern. Kara looks genuinely puzzled when she looks up at you, that stupid deer in the headlights look making her eyes big and round.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, adjusting her glasses.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Kira,” you say. “Ever since you returned earlier you’ve been acting like a kicked puppy, moping around and the like. What is it? You might as well tell me.”

She falls quiet, a stricken look suddenly forming on her face as she’s forced to confront whatever it is she’s been trying to keep at bay all day with busy work. She slowly sinks down onto the couch.

She still doesn’t say anything, so you get up and walk over to where she’s sitting, folding your arms as you stand before her. “Did something happen? At the fire?”

She’s staring hard at her hands. “He was only four,” she mumbles, so quiet you almost don’t catch it.

You heave an irritated breath. “Kira, if I’m going to help you, you need to speak clearly and in complete sentences.”

The hands she’s become so fascinated with begin to shake. “There was – there was a little boy, he was, um, four. He was trapped in his bedroom. I was just about to – to get him when the floor collapsed, it happened so fast, I – I couldn’t save him. He fell and I wasn’t fast enough.”

She’s crying now, big tears rolling down her cheeks, and you feel so badly you think you might start crying, too. But, you haven’t cried at work since you were 22 and your boss called you a stupid bitch in front of the entire newsroom, and you aren’t about to break that streak now.

Instead you sit down beside her on the couch. “You can’t save them all, you know.”

She sniffs and takes off her glasses so she can rub her eyes. “Superman would have been fast enough.”

You shake your head. “You need to stop that – always comparing yourself to him. You’re just as good as him, if not better. I’m sure Superman has lost people, too. He’s had doubts, too. You aliens are entirely too human for your own good.”

She laughs at that. “You must think I’m so weak, crying like this – at work, no less!”

“Nonsense,” you say quickly. “I think that some of the softest people are also the bravest. It takes courage, Kara, to feel the way you do, to care so much about others the way you do.”

She’s giving you a peculiar look. You’re about to huff and ask just what about your face is so fascinating to her when she finally says, “So you _do_ know my name.”

“That whole lovely speech, and all you got out of it was _that_?”

She’s smiling at you in that too-sweet way that threatens to make you soft, so you look away and instead busy yourself with her glasses. You take them gently from her and look at them like they are very fascinating.

“Explain these to me.”

She frowns. “What… do you mean? They’re my glasses.”

“Yes,” you say sharply, “I know that. I mean, why do you wear them? You obviously don’t need them, and they’re clearly not for disguise purposes because you’ve had them for as long as I’ve known you, long before you became Supergirl.”

“Oh, right,” she says, head dipping down in a slow nod. “Well, um, my foster father designed them for me. They’re lined with lead. When I first got to Earth I had a hard time controlling my powers – my first day of school was a disaster. I could see through everything, I could hear ants crawling on the pavement of the street outside. It made things extremely difficult for me. These glasses, they, um, helped mute my powers. Eventually I didn’t need them anymore, but they’ve become so familiar and comforting that I just… kept them. Plus, they remind me of him.”

You look up from the glasses, which do feel a bit heavier than any normal pair you’ve ever owned, and furrow your brow. “Remind? Is he not around?”

“He passed away about a year after I… after I arrived. A work-related accident.”

You cannot believe the unfathomable amount of loss this child has seen in her life – more than you could ever imagine. You give her back her glasses and then reach for the Kleenex on the table.

“Here,” you say, thrusting it towards her, “you’re leaking, and I don’t want your alien fluids getting on my nice floor.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile.

“Well anyway, Kara, don’t feel like you have to keep these things from me. I know your secret, now, and that means you can… tell me things about that side of your life, if you want to. If you need to. I am your mentor, after all.”

She looks like she might cry again, so you just say “All right, enough with the heart-to-hearts, finish your tidying up so we can leave. Carter is expecting me.”

She leaps up as if burned, squeaking out a quick “Of course, Miss Grant, so sorry!”

 You smile a little to yourself.

Some things never change.


End file.
